Shaman's Crossing
Page 48

Talking was painful, and for two days my father spared me any questions. My family had feared for my life, and I was uncomfortably aware, despite my usually bandaged eyes, that for every hour of the day either my mother or one of my sisters sat vigil by my bedside. That this duty was not entrusted to a servant was a sign of the depth of my mother’s concern.
Elisi was keeping the watch one afternoon when my father arrived. He shooed her from the room and then sat down heavily in my reading chair. “Son?” he asked me, and when I turned my head slightly toward the sound of his voice, “Would you like some water?”
“Please,” I whispered hoarsely.
I heard him pour water into the glass by my bedside. I lifted my hand and nudged aside the greasy poultice across my eyes. My entire face had been blistered from sun and the healing skin itched. My father watched as I very carefully levered myself into a more upright position. It was awkward to take the glass from him with both my hands in their mittenish bandages, but I saw that he was pleased to see me doing things for myself. That made it worth it. I drank and he took the glass from me quickly as I tried to fumble it back onto the bedside table. Beside it was my only souvenir of the experience. Sergeant Duril had insisted on helping put me to bed. He’d saved one of the rocks they’d dug out of my flesh and set it aside for me. It wasn’t much of a rock; some sort of quartz, I suspected, flecked and streaked with other minerals, but his reminder that I had once more cheated death was oddly cheering to me. Duril, at least, expected that someday I would look back on this painful time and find a bit of humor in this trophy.
My father cleared his throat to draw my attention back to him. “So. Feeling a bit more yourself now?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Think you can talk?”
My lips felt like burnt sausages. “A little, sir.”
“Very good.” He leaned back in his chair and thought for a bit, and then leaned toward me again. “I don’t even know what to ask you, son. I think I’ll leave it to you to tell me. What happened out there?”
I tried licking my lips. It was a mistake. Ragged bits of skin rasped against my tongue. “Dewara taught me Kidona ways. Hunting. Riding. How they make fires, what they eat. Bleeding a horse for food. Using a sling to hunt birds.”
“Why did he notch your ear?”
I tried to remember. Parts of my time with him had gone muzzy and vague. “He had food and water, and would not share. So…I left him, to go find water and food of my own. He told me I couldn’t leave and I went anyway. Because I thought he’d let me die of thirst if I didn’t.”
He nodded to himself. His eyes were alight with interest. He didn’t rebuke me for disobeying Dewara. Did that mean he thought I had learned the lesson he’d sought to teach me? Was what had befallen me worth that lesson? I felt a sudden spark of hatred toward him. Resolutely I quenched it and forced myself to hear his question. “And that was all? For that, he did this to you?”
“No. No, that was just for the first time.”
“So…you left him. But then you went back to him for food and water?” A bit of disappointment tinged his question, as well as confusion.
“No,” I denied it quickly. “He came after me, sir. I didn’t crawl back to him and beg him to save me. When I rode away from him that first time, he followed me. He chased me on horseback and notched my ear with his swanneck as I fled. I didn’t go back to him and stand still for him to mark me like that. I’d have died first.”
I think the vehemence in my voice shocked him.
“Well, no, of course you didn’t, Nevare. I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. But when he came after you…?”
“I rode a day and a half, and then found water for myself. I knew then that I’d survive. I thought I’d just come home from there. But he came after me, and that night I fought him, and then we talked, and after that, he taught me things, about how the Kidona survive and how they do things.” I took a deeper breath and suddenly felt very, very tired, as if I’d fenced for hours instead of just conversing for a few minutes. I told him that.
“I know, Nevare, and soon I’ll let you rest. Just tell me why Dewara did this to you. Until I know, from you, I don’t know how to respond to what he has done.” A frown furrowed his brow. “You do understand that what he has done to you is a great insult to me? I can’t ignore it. I’ve sent men to find him; he will answer to me. But before I pass judgment on him, I must know the full tale of what drove him to this affront. I’m a just man, Nevare. If something passed between you that drove him to this fury…if, even unintentionally, you offered him great insult, then you should tell me that, to be an honorable man.” He shifted in his chair and then scraped it across the carpet to come a bit closer to my bedside. He lowered his voice, as if sharing a great confidence with me. “I fear I learned a greater lesson than you did from Dewara, and one that is just as hard. I trusted him, son. I knew he would be harsh with you; I knew he would not compromise the Kidona ways for you. He was my enemy, never my friend, and yet he was a trusted enemy to me, if those words can ever be spoken together in such a way. I trusted his honor as a warrior. He gave me his word that he would teach you just as he would teach a young Kidona warrior. Then…to do this to you…I erred in my judgment, Nevare. And you paid the price.”